Rashida Inez Smith
There was a time when I drove a black on black GT Coupe (V6), sitting on 22’s, window tint was so dark that a 100watt flashlight bulb couldn’t shine through it. I had my amp under the seat, two 12s in the trunk and the best audio sound system that Kenwood made at the time. You would hear me coming around the corner long before you would see me.
I would step out of my coupe with my 5inch heels or latest Jordans, 3inch finger nails, Black&Mild between my lips, tongue ring, Brahmin bag on my shoulders, a 380 tucked in the small of my back and a 22 resting in my Brahmin bag.
My cell phone contact list consisted of almost every popular “G” in my local area. I had made connections that were comforting to me but dangerous to anyone that would dare oppose me. All I had to do was make 1 phone call and at least 6 people would show up to my defense. I had a temper out of this world. However, I was always generous and somewhat loving unless I deemed you as a threat. If someone asked me for a cigarette I wouldnt just give them 1 cigarette, I would give my entire pack of Newport Lights 100s (I kept a carton in my car).
I was a fighter! I wouldn’t stop fighting until I saw blood. Now, my Cousin on the other hand, she didnt allow blood to stop her from fighting she would fight until she had no more energy to do so…but I was somewhat compassionate.
There came a time when life got the best of me and I contemplated suicide. The car, the stuff, the “tough girl” persona was all a coverup I used to hide the little girl that was abused but couldnt get the help she needed. One day, I reached a place where I just couldn’t hide under the coverup any longer. I had just been abused by one of my “connections” and it made me suicidal. Neither my 380 or my 22 was a threat to him. So the morning after the long night of abuse I decided to go to church. This was a Sunday morning, of course. When I got there,I walked in as they were doing the “meet, greet and hug”.Some of the “Saints” started making comments about my purple lips (from the smoking), the scent of Black&Milds that were in my clothes (because I would often smoke in the car). They had something to say about my 5inch heels and low cut shirt not knowing that I was suicidal and that I came to the church for help.
I sat in the very back corner of the church. The preacher that brought the word knew me personally and began to “throw off” on me, my lifestyle and my appearance. I got up, ran to my car, sped off with my eyes full of tears. I felt like a joke. Moreover, I was embarrassed because everyone in the church knew the preacher was talking about me!
Yes, I did attempt suicide (the details will be released in my upcoming book) of course the suicide didnt work. However, I went to the church for help but I left the church feeling worse than I did before I came. No one was spiritual enough to discern my depression but they were all bold enough to verbalize my flaws…smh
I said that to say this, if God gives us tomorrow…pray before you speak. Go out of way your to love that Thug, Prostitute, or even your enemy. Every Thug is not a thug simply because they want to be. They were once an innocent child. What happened to them? Some of us preachers are so bold when we have a microphone or a smartphone to hide behind but your not bold enough to go to the REAL HOOD (not the ghetto. There’s a difference between the hood and the ghetto) and snatch them out of oppression and depression and introduce them to Jesus Christ! Shift from being a spiritual bully to being a soul winner and restorer!
Excuse any typos. I love you all. Be an open book!